


Royalty and Heresy

by Syberian



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Kissing, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syberian/pseuds/Syberian
Summary: A series of short stories surrounding the budding relationship between Emily Kaldwin, Empress of the Isles, and the Outsider, god of the Void, during and after the events ofDishonored 2. Stories presented are not posted in order of events.





	1. Not the Last

**Author's Note:**

> _Four weeks without contact would leave any weary heart worried, especially an Empress's._

Emily paced slowly back and forth across her Chambers, hands behind her back and head lowered. She hadn’t bothered to light the fireplace, any of the candelabras in the room, or open the curtains to her windows to let the moonlight shine in. To someone with an outside perspective, it would appear the Empress was in deep thought, possibly over matters plaguing the Empire, such as the insistent hostilities originating from Morley. However, as much as Emily had wished it were, this wasn’t the case. Grounding her teeth, she brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, noting only afterwards she had chosen her left hand for the task. She pulled her hand away and looked pensively at the Mark, frowning.

For _four_ weeks, she hadn’t felt the sensations she had grown familiarized and accustomed to when the Outsider was nearby. He hadn’t bothered to tell her where he had vanished off to, not that she was surprised, but when he didn’t return, a pit of worry and concern began to stir in her stomach. She no longer felt the ticklish tingles on the back of her left hand or see her Mark shine a dull blue to indicate he was nearby. As well, she no longer felt the chill that came from unknown eyes boring into the back of her head- from the Outsider observing from within Void. There were no more nightly visits from him the moment her Chamber doors closed. 

Father had been keeping a keener eye on her during this period of absence, knowing something was wrong when he entered her Chambers one night to find her sitting at the edge of her bed, staring absentmindedly at her uncovered Mark. Nothing had been mentioned between them about the matter, but Emily could always feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye during meals or while she finished paperwork in the study.

Emily dropped her arm and stopped in the middle of her Chambers, eyes closed. She inhaled and sighed deeply through her nose, feeling exhaustion creeping into her limbs from the day’s work. Despite the amount of time that had passed since Delilah Kaldwin I’s “mysterious disappearance”, her memory still lived on in Dunwall. Carriage rails needed fixing, cobblestone streets had to be arranged back in uniform fashion, and many homes had to be repaired or completely destroyed and rebuilt from the ground up. Despite protests from her newly appointed advisors and even the Royal Physician, Xander Toksvig, she ignored them and set to helping her citizens rebuild the Empire’s capital. When she wasn’t preoccupied with the stacks of paperwork sitting in her study that is. As much as she longed to stop prolonging her much needed rest, she knew sleep would evade her until the very last second, like all other nights. Her racing thoughts kept her awake, leaving her to toss and turn under the covers, contemplating where _in the Void_ the Outsider was.

Emily bit her lip as a distant memory popped into her mind. When she was younger and still learning from her governess Callista about the history of the Isles, etiquette suitable for someone of her title, and much more, she would often play a “game” with the older woman to avoid the lessons. It was hide-and-seek, but obviously ruled in her favor. One day, instead of learning about the previous dynasty of Emperors and Empresses before her, she snuck out and hid in the vast library Dunwall Tower had to offer. As she listened to Callista’s voice calling out her name, one book, high upon a shelf, interested her. She had been in the process of receiving lessons from Father about how to climb, so reaching it was not a problem. 

The cover of the book was blank, but upon opening it, she found herself greeted with a strange symbol she later learned (and received) as the Outsider’s Mark. She didn’t remember much about what was written in the book, but a certain detail did stand out to her. The Outsider was thought to be a fickle god, who would lose interest in those he Marked as soon as whatever major event said person would be involved with came to pass. That was as far as she read before Callista had found her and ordered her back to her studies. Emily never did find that book again either, as the next day when she searched for it, it had up and vanished, like it never existed in the first place. 

Perhaps worry and concern did have a way of allowing fear and anxiety to worm their way into a person’s weary heart, but she didn’t want to imagine the possibility of never seeing, speaking, _interacting_ with the Outsider again. She let out a short chuckle, thinking about what Father would say if he would be able to hear her thou-

“Ah, your Imperial Majesty. So restless and fidgety, it’s a wonder how your duties to the citizens of Dunwall don’t appear to tire you.”

Emily’s breathing hitched and her eyes shot open as she heard his familiar, reverberating voice behind her, as composed and leveled as ever. Her heart pounded against her rib cage and she swore she felt it skip a beat more than a few times. She swallowed dryly, mind abruptly blank as she tried to keep her composure. She looked over her shoulder and saw _him_. The Outsider was standing by the unlit fireplace in her Chambers, hands clasped behind his back, and head tilted to the side, not unlike a wolfhound pup when doted over. Even in the darkness, she could see the Void radiating off him like light from a flickering candle. 

The expression on his face conveyed confusion at her reaction- or _lack of_ , for better words. “Emi-”

Emily wasted no time in storming over to him, cutting him off when she grabbed his collared jacket and pulled him down to crush their lips together. The Outsider had returned to _her_ , and that was the _**only**_ thing that mattered now. Not the burning in her lungs as she tried to prolong the longevity of the kiss as possible, not the fear Father might walk in to see if she had left the Tower or not for a run across Dunwall’s rooftops, and certainly not the fact she was locking lips with a deity. If she had the power, she would stop time then and there to savour the moment for as long as she pleased. However, it wasn’t until a chill hand grasped her shoulder gently did she suddenly come back to her senses and realized what exactly she was doing. 

Emily pulled away hastily and felt her face immediately began to heat up. She knew she could be impulsive and rash at times, but never did she expect to find herself kissing the literal god of the Void. She refused to look up from his chest as she stammered, “It’s- uh.. Y-you know. I-it’s good to s-see you back.”

She let go of his collar, took a step back to put some distance between them, and turned around, covering her mouth with one hand out of embarrassment. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply to try and recover her previous formality when it came to the Outsider. 

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the ticking of the grandfather clock in her Chambers to break the silence between them. When it was broken, it was the Outsider who asked, “ _‘Back’_?”

Emily opened her eyes and stared blankly at the floor, processing the single word just spoken repeatedly in her mind. Her free hand curled into a fist and she gritted her teeth, attempting her damnedest to not shake in her building rage. How… how dare he?! How dare the Outsider act like he hadn’t been gone the entire Month of Clans. Her breathing grew ragged, and any attempts to stop and calm herself only served to fan the flames traversing through every inch of her body. 

“Four. Weeks,” she muttered through clenched teeth and lowered her hand. She spun around on her heel and faced him, immediately noticing his confused expression. “You’ve been gone for an entire _month_ and decide to show up here like **nothing** happened?!” The Outsider opened his mouth, but Emily cut him off, too angry to let him defend himself. “You don’t tell me you’re leaving, how long you would be gone, if you would even make it back or not.” She stepped forward and punched his shoulder, but the force behind it was weak at best. All the frustration, the anger, the worry, the concern, the constant nagging feeling in the back of her mind she felt every day she woke up had dissipated, leaving her to struggle to find what she should say next. “I was worried,” she whispered, voice soft. “I was worried something- someone had gotten to you.” She rested her forehead against his chest, internally sighing and closing her eyes, feeling a fierce headache approaching. “I…”

Emily’s voice left her, exhaustion and numbness replacing it. All the feelings bottled up the past month had finally been released, leaving her drained. She expected the Outsider to feel insulted by her outburst and to vanish again, leaving her alone and miserable in her Chambers. Instead, his cold hand wound up on the back of her neck, thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles against her fiery skin.

“Emily,” the Outsider whispered her name softly. “In Stilton’s Manor, I told you the Void is not a place, hidden behind the curtain of mortal eyes. It is not finite like this world. It isn’t what scholars dream of. It just _is_. It is the beginning of all things, and one day, will be the end.” He paused momentarily, letting his words sink in. “Mortal things such as time have no place there, for the Void is limitless.” He wrapped his free arm around her torso and pulled her closer. “When I left that evening, my departure felt no more than a few hours, not an entire month. Time has never been important to me until recently, despite knowing I am eons old.” He sighed deeply. “And with your actions against Delilah and Zhukov, no harm will ever befall me or the Void again.”

Emily listened intently as the Outsider explained his side of the dilemma, feeling foolish for her outburst. She nodded weakly against the fabric of his jacket, not yet trusting herself to say anything. However, something he mentioned did bring a question to mind, and with what had occurred this night, she knew he wouldn’t tip-toe around the answer to the question. Not this time, at least.

“You said time didn’t matter to you until recently,” she mumbled into the fabric of his jacket. “When did it?”

“When I met you.”

The Outsider’s blunt, quick response caused her to pause for a moment. She bit her lip and thought about his confession. A thought crossed her mind, and she felt herself stuck at a crossroads, both routes leading down different paths. She knew what she desired, but the Outsider was much more difficult to read. Within the past months, their connection went beyond formalities and simply needing one another to solve their problems. No, it had flourished, to her surprise. Emily Kaldwin, Empress of the Isles, was impulsive and rash, but she knew what she wanted. She lifted her head and stared into his eyes, his gaze soft. With her free hand, she reached up and cupped his cheek, noticing how he seemed to lean into her palm.

“Then take this memory with you the next time you travel so far,” she said softly, raising herself up slightly on her toes to kiss him again, this kiss much gentler than the last. For a second, Emily feared the Outsider would refuse, but her mind relaxed as she felt him reciprocate the kiss, resting both hands on her back and pulling her flush against him. She pulled an inch away from his lips and whispered, “Maybe it’ll bring you back to me sooner.”

The Outsider smiled and initiated the next kiss, and the next kiss, _and_ the next kiss, all the way until dawn began to seep through the cracks in her curtains, almost completely unnoticed between the two new lovers.

“Emily Kaldwin, you’re the only person who has ever made me _**feel**_ more human.” He vanished into ash, returning to the Void, leaving the Empress with a content heart and a smile gracing her lips.


	2. The Music Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It all started when Overseers requested an audience with Empress Emily Kaldwin…_

“Your Majesty, a pair of Overseers are demanding an audience with you.”

 Emily immediately stopped writing the letter she had planned to send to Alexandria Hypatia and stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of her, suddenly unable to decipher what she had already written. It took longer than a few moments to process what one of the Tower’s servants had informed her. Upon looking up, she saw the door to her study left wide open. She neatly folded and placed the unfinished letter to the side of her desk, dipped her pen back into its inkwell, and slumped in her chair, hands covering her face as she hid a groan of displeasure. The Outsider’s Mark burned fiercely beneath its black leather wrappings, as if the man himself was expressing his discontent towards this sudden knowledge as well.

 “Emily.” A gruff voice broke her from her thoughts, and she peeked through her fingers to see Father leaning against the doorway, a grim expression on his face. “They’re waiting for you in the Throne Room.”

 “Do you know what business they have with me that’s so important?” she grumbled, standing up from her chair and walking over to Corvo, who immediately linked their arms together. “There’s a reason I appointed new advisors.”

 “It’s about _Delilah_ .” Father’s hands clenched into fists the moment he mentioned _her_ name. Emily knew her father would never forgive that witch for turning him into stone and nearly killing his only daughter. However, with keen hearing, she caught a hint of reluctance in his voice, hidden well beneath the normally apathetic tone he spoke in. He was hiding something from her, which meant the situation was more dire than they both originally thought.

 “There’s more to it, isn’t there?” she asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “This isn’t just about Delilah.”

 Father paused and turned towards her, grabbing her shoulders so they could stare eye-to-eye at one another. Though she was only a few inches shorter than him, in this moment, she felt fifteen years younger, still wearing bows in her hair and pestering him to teach her how to fight with swords and how to perform a Tyvian chokehold. Looking into his eyes, she could tell the feeling was mutual, as Father no longer saw her as the Empress of the Isles or a person whose title was immensely higher than his. No, he saw her as his daughter and only his daughter in this moment.

 “The Abbey calls them ‘Music Boxes’, but don’t let that name fool you. What they play is anything but music, and the effects, specifically… on you…” he paused momentarily and sighed. “They’re meant to disable any and all magic temporarily.”

 Emily’s eyes widened and a shiver ran down her spine as she realised what he was implying. Father opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped midway. His skin had turned a monotone grey, and she knew immediately what had happened: the Outsider had stopped time, just like he did in Aramis Stilton’s Manor. She looked around for him, but soon quit once she felt arms wrap around her waist, chilling, but always inviting nonetheless.

 “The Overseers are playing with music as old as the Void itself, if not even more so,” he whispered into her ear, his cold breath causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. “I find it rather ironic they’re using tools created by magic to ‘battle against it’, as they would say.”

 Emily swallowed. “Father said the music played by it suppresses magic. I have your Mark, but... “

 The Outsider tightened his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “Emily Kaldwin, first of her name, and the only human with the Void running through her veins. I will not let them harm you.”

 “I thought you didn’t ‘take sides’ when it comes to the lives of mortals.”

 “You’re a special case.” Before Emily could reply, he disappeared and time continued as normal if their conversation didn’t occur.

 “-ou are ill and need your rest.”

 She turned her attention back to Father, realising he had just finished telling her something. His expression turned serious as he probably noticed the confusion on her face, and he asked, “ _He_ was just here, wasn’t he?”

 For a split second, she thought about lying, but found her mouth and throat too parched to even speak. Instead, she nodded, and the expression on his face grew grim. Father was still at odds with the Outsider for Marking her, and later being unable to remove the quite literal essence of the Void from her body. However, if he appeared to her in this situation to inform her the upcoming audience with the Overseers was more unsafe than originally believed, he would take his “old friend’s” advice to heart.

 “By the Void,” he muttered under his breath.

 “Father,” Emily said, catching his attention. “Things won’t go sour. Ever since the Coup, you’ve worried too much.”

 He eyed her for a few long seconds before bowing his head and chuckling softly under his breath. “You act so much like your Mother these days. So stubborn, so compassionate, so rebellious.”

 Emily cracked a smile at his comment and leaned forward to kiss his head, like how he did to her so many times as she grew up and doubted her ability to live up to Mother’s legacy as Empress. Regardless, Mother would always be someone they would share together- whether it be through laughter or through tears.

 Clearing her throat and inhaling a shaky breath, she stepped out of her father’s grasp. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.” He lifted his head and nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, and putting his “Royal Protector mask” on. Emily herself straightened her clothing, smoothing out any wrinkles, and opened the door to the den, walking ahead of her father. Despite not yet having entered the Throne Room, she could hear the conversation the Overseers were having, muffled by the metal masks they wore.

 "-ure the Empress will agree to this, Brother?”

 “Have faith. Once her Majesty learns of the severity of the situation in the Rudshore Financial District, she will _have_ to consider our proposal.”

 Emily entered the Throne Room and was greeted by the sight of two Overseers, dressed in traditional Abbey garb. The apparent leader of the two stood straight as she walked through the door, hands behind his back, whereas his partner carried a metal box with a large cylinder inside. The entire contraption looked fragile, with spots of rust covering the surface, but there was an undeniable sturdiness in it. A crank handle was attached to the side of the music box, and, for a moment, she thought it would break completely if even the tiniest bit of force was put upon it, but shook this doubt away quickly. What caught her attention the most, however, was the cylinder inside the contraption; grooves covered the surface of it, created by only the most delicate hands of a craftsman. The Outsider was correct when he said the construct before her was not from this time and age. Something about simply looking at it caused gooseflesh to rise on her skin.

 “Your Majesty,” the lead Overseer greeted, bowing before her. “I am Overseer Thornew, and my companion here is Overseer Pocklerin.”

 “Greetings.” Emily walked over to the Throne and sat down. “What business do you have that is so important to interrupt my duties?”

 “M-My greatest apologies for interrupting your duties, your Majesty, but we wished to show you a wonderful tool the Abbey possesses that will help in the the process of cleaning the atrocities left behind by Delilah Kaldwin and her sinful coven of witches.”

 She faked interest as she asked, “And what tool is this?”

 Overseer Thornew gestured towards Overseer Pocklerin. “Brother Pocklerin is carrying what is known among the Abbey as a music box, capable of dispelling any magical influence in the area.”

 Emily feigned interest in this information. “How would this benefit Dunwall if the City Watch and any volunteers are already repairing the damage left by my aunt?”

 “By removing sources of dark magic, your Majesty!” Overseer Pocklerin exclaimed, nearly dropping the music box in his excitement. “If we were to play the sound over the city speakers, we could easily root out sources of dark magic.”

 Overseer Thornew turned and looked towards his companion. “Now, now, Brother. Let us not be so hasty.” He turned back towards Emily. She felt her muscles tense before the Overseer even brought the Rune out from a pouch on the back of his belt. He held it between his index finger and thumb, as if holding it properly in the palm of his hand was heretical itself. “This is one of the heretical artefacts we found on one of the witches who tried to escape the city.” The Rune emitted a light humming sound she had grown familiar to, and shadows rippled like ocean waves away from it. “As I hope you already know, your Majesty, these are used by the Outsider to corrupt a person’s mind, leaving them to practice dark magic.” He paused and looked towards Overseer Pocklerin, whose hand was on the crank handle. “We wish to demonstrate the power of the music box on a heretical artefact such as this.”

 Before either her or Father could protest, Overseer Pocklerin began turning the crank handle, and a deep, resonating drone played.

 The Outsider’s Mark scorched the back of her left hand in a chilling fire, leaving her to clench her teeth as she desperately tried to not show the Overseers she was affected. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins, hot and cold at the same time, the previous equilibrium lost to the sounds of this torturous device. Every slab of muscle, sliver of bone, and drop of marrow shrieked in pure pain, as it felt as though she was being dunked into boiling and freezing water repeatedly. By now, her hands clenched the Throne so tightly, she didn’t notice when the callouses and scabs on her knuckles viciously split open, and began to trail blood down her fingers and the ivory armrests. Her heart pumped quickly and harshly against her rib cage. She could hear her heartbeat wildly in her ears, causing a migraine to begin to form. Breathing was near impossible as it felt as though her throat was closing, and she closed her eyes as she her vision began to blur and distort.

  _I-I deserve this for_ **_not_ ** _saving Father. I deserve this for_ **_not_ ** _saving Alexi. I deserve this for_ **_not_ ** _f-forgiving Billie. I-_

 “ ** _Enough_ ** ,” Father’s booming voice broke through her thoughts and music. Immediately, Overseer Pocklerin stopped turning the crank handle and the music box ceased playing. “Thank you for presenting your idea to the Empress. This matter will be discussed with the Empress’s advisors before an ultimatum is decided.” He gestured behind them, towards the exit. “There will be guards waiting to escort you out of the Tower.”

 Despite her blurred vision upon opening her eyes, she noticed Overseer Thornew was examining her. Even his mask couldn’t hide his scrutinizing gaze. Depositing the Rune back into its pouch, he turned towards Overseer Pocklerin. “Come, Brother. We have matters to discuss with the Abbey.”

 As they turned around and began to walk away, Father quietly snuck behind Thornew and swiped the pouch containing the Rune from his belt, ensuring the artefact wouldn’t stay in the Abbey’s hands. She wasn’t able to pay attention to the effects the music box had on the Rune, but, if she had to guess, they were most likely no better than hers.

 “Emily? _Emily_?!”

 “I... I’m here, Father. I’m here,” she affirmed, barely noticing him kneeling in front of her, holding her upper arms to keep her balanced in her seat.

 He reached down and gently unhooked her hands from the Throne, grimacing at her bloody knuckles and fingers. “What happened?”

 She stood unsteadily with his help and leaned heavily on him to walk. “I- I-...”

 “It’s okay, Emily. It’s over now,” he whispered soothingly to her. They began a slow walk to her Chambers, and by the time they made it to the top of the stairs, she was out of breath. “I would call a physician, but I don’t know how we would explain what’s wrong.”

 Emily sighed and shook her head, wincing as it only served to worsen her headache. “I’m fine, Father. I just need to rest for a bit.”

 At the doorway to her Chambers, he turned to face her, cupping her cheeks with both hands. “Are you sure? I never had a reaction like that when I was Marked.”

 “I’m sure,” she said assuredly, placing a comforting hand on his cheek.

 Father looked hesitant to let her go, and she imagined he was going to argue with her, but he surprised her when he opened the door to her Chambers and closed it behind her. Her Chambers were dark and she felt a sense of comfort knowing the curtains were closed and the candles and fireplace unlit. The process of cleaning herself up afterwards was a blur to her, but she remembered cold, deft fingers washing the blood off her hands and wrapping her knuckles in bandages, alongside dabbing her face and neck with a wet cloth.

 She knew who had come to assist her and was glad when the Outsider followed under her bedcovers after her, whispering quietly in her ear as she shook sporadically in his arms, not from the chill of his body this time. His words of comfort and reassurances blocked out all external sound and she found herself slowly drifting off into a dreamless sleep, still feeling her Mark burning and her heart pounding in her chest.


	3. The Long Night (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Emily thought all would be well after Delilah’s defeat, but a contingency plan has the returned Empress suffering from what would be a fatal wound- if not for the Outsider (and their increasingly complicated relationship)._

Emily leaned against the stone window sill of her recently reclaimed Chambers, sighing in relief as a cool ocean breeze swept across her sweaty face and neck. She had removed her scarf long ago, and had it pressed tightly against a mildly deep stab wound on her abdomen in an attempt to stanch the blood seeping through her thick layers of clothes. Delilah had surprised her when she turned her whalebone blade behind her and wildly stabbed her niece in the side right before falling unconscious from her chokehold. Any pain she should be feeling from the wound inflicted upon her was numbed, most likely due to the adrenaline running through her veins. It wasn’t long lasting, however, as she felt exhaustion creeping into her sore muscles and her eyes becoming heavy with the need to sleep.

Still, a small smile played upon the rightfully returned Empress’s lips as she recounted the excitement Delilah expressed upon entering her painting, not realising it had been corrupted and was now her prison. The smile on her lips only grew larger as she remembered what happened afterwards: feeling her father’s unshaven face as she held his cheeks in her hands as his body reversed back into flesh and blood instead of cold stone. Understandably, Father had been confused upon his first glance at the Throne Room, having no memories since his imprisonment by Delilah two months before. However, he quickly deduced more urgent matters needed attended to, and quickly gathered any unfrozen guards and willing civilians to find any other survivors and clear the roads of the  _ damned  _ plants growing all over the place.

Fires lit up all over the dim city as citizens and guards of every class and district, no longer afraid of Delilah’s tyranny, worked endlessly to destroy the remnants of her aunt’s reign. Emily had a feeling there would be no shortage of kindling for burning for months- possibly  _ years _ \- to come. She wished to be out there to help, but she knew it was better to keep to Father's word, especially when he practically  _ begged _ her to stay and rest. Though her rebellious streak still urged her to find a way out of Dunwall Tower through one of her windows, she kept to her promise. With exhaustion creeping deep within her bones, she desired nothing more than to find a suitable spot on the floor to sleep on and drift into slumber, no longer anxious or fearful she would be plagued by nightmares.

Not that her dreams were  _ always _ nightmares…

Emily knew the Outsider was behind her before he even had to make his presence known. Since receiving his Mark, there were a couple significant signs she learned of to know whether he was nearby or not. A heavily metallic scent drifted in the air, and not from the wound on her abdomen, along with the strange, distinct smell of something merely  _ cold _ . There was no other way to describe it, but whenever he was around, the area would permeate with what she could only think of the scents of Tyvia. What little light lit her Chambers had dimmed into nothingness,but this did not bother her. For the past weeks since being forced out of Dunwall, she found more solitude and comfort in the darkness than in the light. If none of these indications told her what she should already know, then the last, very obvious clue would have been her Mark, tingling underneath the surface of her skin and burning a dull blue.

Emily didn’t bother to turn around as she said, “I didn’t think you had the power to stand in the mortal realm.”

“You have yourself to thank for that,” his incorporeal reply was.

Emily felt a bubble of amusement in her stomach as they fell back into recent habits. To the surprise of both her and the Outsider, she had unintentionally picked up his tone and manner of speech. More often than not, she found herself slipping into it when speaking with him. She didn’t know how he felt about it, but she always saw a small smirk on his face as she somehow managed to trip him on his words.

“I suppose the hole where your heart was has finally been restored?” she asked nonchalantly, leaning her right forearm on the window sill and biting her bottom lip to hold back a hiss as the movement caused her abdominal wound to shift.

“Yes and no,” he responded, feigning uninterest. “The missing pieces of the Void Delilah stole from me have been returned.” For an odd reason, she felt as though a devilish smile played upon his lips. “But I have no heart you speak of.”

Emily turned around to face him, not surprised to find him directly behind her, mouth raised into a small smirk and an eyebrow quirked upwards in amusement. When she looked into his eyes, she felt as though there was a definite change in them she hadn’t noticed in Karnaca. Before, they appeared slightly milky and cloudy, similar to a blind person. Now, they had become clearer than the shadows and stone in the Void itself, and there was  _ no  _ exaggeration in saying that. His eyes were an endless tunnel of charcoal black, the moonlight bouncing off them to resemble pupils. She knew it would be easy to get lost in such an intense gaze, but there was no time for such a thing.

She grit her teeth as a sharp pain forced her to press her scarf even more tightly against her wound. She needed it examined, but her wounds could be considered minor compared to what she saw a few survivors suffering on the way to Dunwall Tower. Her citizens needed medical attention more than she did. However, she knew this slight adjustment didn’t go unnoticed by the Outsider, as his expression turned scrutinizing and serious.

“What will you do now, your Imperial Majesty?” he asked, vanishing into ash and appearing by the fireplace. “Your father is returned, the throne is yours once more, but the people of the Isles are suffering.” He turned his head to look at her as she struggled to walk towards the Vault Room doorway, pausing to catch her breath as she felt lightheaded. The Safe Room had an emergency medical kit stowed away in a cabinet underneath the countertop. Hopefully, it would still be there when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“If my father’s birthplace taught me anything-” she clutched the railing tightly until her knuckles turned stark white, holding back a pained groan from escaping her, “-it’s I need to take my responsibilities as Empress more seriously, for the betterment of everyone in the Empire.”

The Outsider hummed in response behind her, a noise she knew meant he was carefully considering her words. Emily reached the top of the staircase and inhaled deeply, already expecting a dizzying pain with each step she took as she descended. It utterly baffled her as to why this  _ single  _ wound abused her more than anything in Karnaca in such a short amount of time. Bullets, blades, miscalculated jumps, bloodfly stings, and a long list of everything else she unfortunately received in the Jewel of the South felt like nothing compared to the injury Delilah forced upon her.

As Emily was about to take her first step in her descent, she felt an arm wrap around her waist and press tightly against her blood-soaked fingers. Before her reflexes kicked in, she suddenly found herself smelling ash and feeling queasy. She closed her eyes as she tried to control her breathing, feeling the sting of bile in her throat.

“Delilah wounded you,” the Outsider stated coldly behind her, his fingers laced between hers. “And you failed to inform anyone.”

If it wasn’t for the fact he was whispering directly into her ear, she would have blamed the silent shudders down her spine on his almost angered voice. “There were more important matters to attend to.” Her queasiness eased up enough so she could open her eyes and notice they were at the bottom of the staircase. “Besides, it’s just a small cut.”

Emily bit her lip as the Outsider forcibly removed her hand from her wound, feeling a fresh wave of pain wrack her body. When he lifted her bloodied scarf to her face, she nearly dropped it in shock. Along with the regular crimson red of her blood, a different colour also stained the cloth: charcoal black. Instead of mixing, the two liquids stayed separate, as if repulsed by the other.

“Delilah was a smart woman, and had one last card up her sleeve. A contingency plan, if you will,” he whispered, letting her hand go and placing his own over her wound. “She dipped her blade in the liquid used to feed her warped garden, a substance made purely from the Void and her own twisted will. If continued to be left untreated, all your efforts in taking back the Throne will be for naught.”

Emily felt her mind go blank at this information. She knew Delilah had some control over the Void and dabbled heavily in black magic to receive what she wanted, but she never thought her aunt would go to such an extreme extent to secure her position. She swallowed with difficulty and leaned back against the Outsider’s lithe frame, letting him hold her against him for a few moments. Father had instilled in her she always needed to a strategy- a plan, even if it had to be improvised on the spot. She wet her lips before murmuring,”I’ll have physicians look at it when they return to the Tower.”

“ _ Emily _ .” His voice was quiet, but stern. “It would be too late by the time you received medical help, and no mortal remedies would be able to cure the poison in your veins.”

She turned her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, noticing his concerned expression and frown as he stared back. If there was one thing she had learned from the past two months, it was the Outsider was no liar. He did speak in riddles and danced around the truth at times, often leaving the answer of her question up to interpretation, but never did he lie. If her situation and the injury left by Delilah was as dangerous and serious as he proclaimed, she would have informed someone-  _ anyone _ \- sooner.

“Do you know of a way to stop it?”  

He grimaced and closed his eyes. “The Void was used to create this, and so the Void will be used to recover from it.”

“Cryptics are not always fun to decipher when your life is on the line,” she growled, brows furrowing.

Before she could gripe any further, the Outsider teleported them again, sending Emily into a nauseous state. She kept her composure as he helped her lay down on the mattress of the Safe Room’s private quarters. It was perhaps the only place in Dunwall Tower that suffered the least damage from Delilah, as very little had been touched  or moved since she left. The same couldn’t be said for the room containing the royal reserves.

Emily closed her eyes as she tried to keep herself from vomiting, internally arguing whether she should try to stop the flow of blood from her wound or not. It wasn’t until a cold hand pressed against her sweaty forehead did she open her eyes and realize the Outsider had removed his outer jacket. His face expressed concern as he loomed over her, pressing his cold hand against her cheeks and the back of her neck.

“Fever is already setting in,” he commented, probably to himself. “For your sake, I hope Karnaca has tamed the wild spirit inside you.” He smirked. “I’ve heard being bedridden is an intolerable task for someone with blood as fiery as yours.”

It took her a minute to decipher what he said, her mind muddled and slow from exhaustion and blood loss. Upon realising what he had told her, she turned her head away from him and sighed deeply through her nose, cursing Delilah in her mind over and over again.


	4. Promise (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Corvo doesn’t know how to feel with the knowledge his daughter is injured beyond any mortal help. However, he does know he is not a fan of the Outsider’s countless vague responses._

Dunwall was essentially in shambles because of Delilah, and Corvo Attano was not able to remember a single second of the destruction and ruin because of his imprisonment in stone. There was no doubt in his mind the capital of the Empire would recover from this catastrophe, but it would take more time than initially calculated to clear away all of the vegetation sprung up in different districts of the city, gather and find proper shelter, food, and clean water for civilians, hunt down and either detain or kill whatever remained of Delilah’s revived coven, inform the other capitals of the Empire the crisis had ended, and so much more it left him rubbing his temples. For the first time ever, Corvo started to feel his age creeping into his body.

Politics were not his forte, and he could feel a storm brewing underneath the surface of this entire catastrophe. That was a discussion for another, less tiresome day, however, as his daughter was probably resting in her Chambers right now, given how beaten and fatigued she appeared to him when he was free from his imprisonment. It took more than enough coercing to convince her to stay in the Tower until she could properly address the people of Dunwall, and even then Corvo feared Emily would find a new, clever way of escaping. Any medical help offered was flat out refused, citing any survivors would need any available medical supplies that could be provided should be given to them. Though his paternal instinct fought back against her decision, he reluctantly followed her orders. Once he felt assured she had retired to her room, he began assigning tasks to volunteers, and even participated in some of the work himself.

Hours later, Dunwall was still not fully healed, and would not be for some time, but the process of recovery was evident by the guards and civilians hard at work to help restore their fair city to its former glory. Corvo’s joints ached as he tread up the stairs to his daughter’s Chambers. One door had been ripped entirely off its hinges, and the other was hanging on only by the vegetation covering the wall. Delilah spared no expense in covering this the floors and walls in vegetation, and the smell of sulfur in the air only led him to believe she once had a Gravehound-  those nasty bastards- sleeping in here. With a scrutinizing gaze, he scanned the room for any indications his daughter was in it, but his heart settled in his throat when he didn’t find any sign of Emily in her Chambers. With as much speed as he could muster, he walked into her office to see if she had decided instead to rest there, but found himself growing slightly frantic at the thought his daughter-  _ his baby girl _ \- was missing once again. The bathroom and utility closet yielded the same result, leaving him with one last resort: the Safe Room.

A relieved sigh escaped him and he chuckled quietly at his panicked actions as he walked towards the doorway. The Safe Room had always been a place of comfort for her, and not because it was near impenetrable inside and out. After he helped her properly reclaim the Throne, he would often spend his nights in this room, holding her close to his chest as she cried from the nightmares brought about from her mother’s death, the months spent in the Golden Cat, and the Loyalists, people they both thought could be trusted, betraying them and stealing her away from him to Kingsparrow Island. He hoped informing her he was her father would help ease some of the pain away, but it still took years until she could comfortably sleep in-

Corvo froze.

Even though Delilah had stripped him of his Mark, he still remembered the signs of the Outsider’s presence, even though the last time they had spoken was fifteen years ago- during the Time of the Rat Plague. The air was intensely cold, and if he wasn’t covered by so many layers of clothing, he was sure he would be shivering and clattering his teeth. Though power had been restored to Dunwall Tower, an impenetrable darkness fell over most of the room, even with some candles and the private room’s wood stove lit. A stench he could only describe as being the Void itself pervaded the room, leaving it difficult to deeply inhale a lungful of air. Gooseflesh covered every inch of his skin and his body would sporadically shiver and twitch. Only  _ he  _ could bring about these changes with his mere appearance.

Swiftly, he ran down the staircase, ignoring his overworked muscles and joints.

“Ah, Corvo, old friend.”

Corvo’s head turned to the sound of the familiar voice, and he felt fury forming in the very core of his being. His hand gripped the metal railing so harshly, his knuckles turned stark white. “What in the name of the Void are you doing to my daughter?!”

Corvo stormed into the Safe Room’s private chambers, reaching out with the intent to grab the collar of the Outsider’s shirt. Before he could, his hand froze midway, along with the rest of his body, even as he tried to struggle against this new predicament with all his might. Memories of being forced to watch as Jessamine die by the hands of the assassin Daud and being turned inch by inch into stone by Delilah surfaced in his mind.

“Hours ago, your daughter deceived her aunt into trapping herself within her own painting,” the Outsider began, wiping his wet and dripping hands with a towel. “The price for such a feat came in the form of a wound, poisoning the blood in her veins with a concoction of Delilah’s own creation.”

Corvo looked towards Emily out of the corner of his eye and finally noticed what his initial paternal instinct blinded him from: her shirt had been lifted up just below her rib cage, revealing a deep gash just above her hip on the right side of her abdomen, languidly oozing what he could only describe as a mixture of blood and liquefied coal. The navy blue, collared coat and decorative scarf she wore the last time he saw her had been tossed on top of the stove. They would most likely be burned into ashes soon, as both were soaked and dripping blood onto the floor. He honestly wasn’t able to tell if she had fallen asleep from fever, evident by her flushed and sweaty face, or fainted from blood loss. Her breathing was raspy and dry, and, with his keen hearing, he could barely make out intangible words spilling out of her mouth as she tossed her head from side to side in fever-induced delirium. The most out of place object was the black jacket pooled underneath her head, which he recognised to be the Outsider’s.

Corvo’s original rage melted into concern and worriment, and he dropped his arm and walked to Emily’s bedside, blind to the fact his joints were no longer locked up and he was able to move freely now. He took one of her clammy hands in his own, and found himself increasingly perturbed. “Why is she so cold?”

“The essence of the Void runs through her veins,” the Outsider said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

Corvo didn’t understand what the deity meant and furrowed his brows. His advice- if it could even be called that- still remained cryptic and confusing. “Still talking in damn riddles after all these years,” he grumbled under his breath, reaching out and brushing a lock of his daughter’s hair behind her ear.

Watching the Outsider out of the corner of his eye, the god dipped his hands into a ceramic bowl of clear water before placing his palms as gently as possible against Emily’s wound. The reaction was almost immediate, as every muscle in her body tensed in an instant. His hand was caught in a vice grip in hers, surprising him with her strength for a brief moment. He squinted his eyes shut momentarily, but soon opened them once he became accustomed to the pain. As soon as he saw their hands, he found his initial rage rebounding, gathering and curling like a snarling beast in his chest.

“ **_YOU MARKED HER?!_ ** ” he roared at the Outsider. “Do you have  _ any  _ clue of what you’ve done?!” The Outsider slowly removed his hands, stained with black liquid, from her wound, dipping them into the bowl and drying them off with a towel. “If the Abbey  _ ever _ found out, she would be branded as a heretic and execu-”

“I would **_never_** let that happen,” the Outsider cut him off, turning to look at him with a familiar expression on his normally apathetic face. To see it on the face of what scholars called the “Leviathan” was equally intriguing, terrifying, and slightly amusing. Though shadows covered his eyes, he knew what emotions were shielded by them: protectiveness, possessiveness, and a slowly burning hatred, daring anyone with the intention of harming Emily to try.

It was the look Jessamine would secretly glance at him whenever a noblewoman would approach him during special occasions at Dunwall Tower, such as a banquet or ball. It was the look he would give any potential suitor who tried for her hand, only to be politely refused. It was the look he didn’t like knowing the Outsider had for Emily.

“Emily chose to be Marked knowing the consequences,” the Outsider explained, turning back to the wound and paying no attention to the inquisitive look Corvo gave him. “She was given the choice of refusal, but instead took my offer.” He placed his hands back on the wound, but Corvo didn’t flinch in pain this time. He watched as tendrils of shadow curled around their clenched hands, the Outsider’s Mark barely visible through the inky blackness. He guessed the Outsider wasn’t the only one sucking the minimal light out of the room.

“Is this what you meant by “essence of the Void”?” he asked, directing his attention to the retreating shadows that returned to her Mark.

“Corvo, I was not speaking figuratively when I said that.”

He was about to prod further, but bit his tongue, knowing he would never be given a proper answer. There was one topic he knew he had to bring up, avoidance of the question or not.

“What does my daughter mean to you?” he whispered, not looking up from Emily’s face.

A long pause followed the question, silence filling the small room besides Emily’s heavy, raspy breathing and the crackling of the stove behind them. A foolish thought crossed his mind the Outsider had simply vanished back into the Void. However, Corvo scolded himself for such thoughts, especially when the signs of the god’s presence still lingered about. He was about to turn his head and repeat this question, more demanding this time, but the Outsider beat him to it.

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?”

Corvo swallowed and asked, “Then you know what my next question will be?”

The Outsider sighed and dipped his hands in the bowl of water, not bothering to dry them off. “Yes, and you have my word.” He reached over and placed his hand on Emily’s forehead, humming in response. “The fever is going down.” He looked at Corvo. “require another bowl of water to continue treatment.”

Corvo looked towards the one at his side. “You have one already.”

“Those without my Mark cannot see the true contents inside,” he explained. “Emily requires my attention, so I am unable to retrieve clean water myself.”

Corvo glared at him for a moment before easing his daughter’s hand onto the bed, taking note how her shadowed fingertips seemed to turn into claws the moment he let go.

“Fine.” He stood, his body stiff from sitting in such a position for so long, and reached down to pick up the bowl when a cold hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“It is not just the water that is tainted.” The Outsider let go of him and pushed the bowl off to the side. To Corvo, it looked like a normal ceramic bowl full of clear water, but he wasn’t about to doubt the Outsider’s warning just yet.

Corvo pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, took one last glance at his daughter, before stiffly walking out of the private chambers and up the staircase, thoughts racing through his mind the entire time.

“Immortal or not, you had better keep your ‘word’,” Corvo muttered underneath his breath, knowing full well the Outsider could hear him despite the distance between them. In response, he felt a shiver crawl up his spine, rendering him immobile for a few seconds until he felt like he could properly move. When this debacle was over, he decided he was going to learn  _ every _ detail of his daughter’s journey in Karnaca.


	5. Bonecharms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _While in Karnaca, the Outsider discovered a unique talent Emily possessed. Now, back in Dunwall, he cannot help but ponder how she acquired such a gift, one he never taught her._

In the millenniums since his forced ascension to godhood, the Outsider had Marked few and observed fewer who could impress him with their resolve and choices. However, Emily Kaldwin, Empress of the Isles, seemed to utterly fascinate him with what she paths she chose as she worked to take the Throne back. When he expected blood to trickle from her fingertips like a leaky faucet, instead he found her sparing her foes; the Howlers, the Overseers, the Grand Guard, the Witches, and even those who participated in the Coup itself. For possibly the first time since his rebirth, he managed to find someone who overcame whatever stood in her way, never once spilling a drop of her own blood unless it was hers. The amount of mercy she showed to those who tried their damnedest to kill her was astounding.

 It was only when she committed the near impossible did these feelings cement themselves in his very being: crafting a Bonecharm. He hadn’t a clue how or where she picked up the practice, since most who did were witches, fools, or simply mad. The one she crafted was a simple one, with two charms facing opposite directions, connected only by a ring in the middle. What perplexed him was how _easy_ it seemed to her. Most people would practice for months using the bones of whale carcasses to ignite the simplest spark of magic, but it took her not even an hour to complete hers.

 To the Outsider’s interest, she didn’t stop there. As the days in Karnaca grew warmer, the bloodfly nests grew thinner, and those who participated in the Coup were eliminated, she grew bolder with her craft. Using the tools of Anton Sokolov, she boldly crafted Bonecharms with three traits- sometimes even four. The magic in these charms were more powerful together than separated as she sew them into the upper left arm of her clothing. Finally, on the journey back to Dunwall after replacing Luca Abele with his body double, she attempted something he never expected. The Rune she had crafted using the last of her supply of raw whalebone was both warm from the hands that held it and cold from the Void radiating from it. Whatever Emily had done, the artefact pulsed more with the comforts and warmth of life than the cold and shadows of the Void.

 “If you have a question, ask.”

 The Outsider was shaken from his thoughts by the same woman who occupied his mind. They were currently in the Imperial Safe Room, stowed away from any prying eyes that might see them together. After the incident with the Overseers days ago, the Royal Physician, Xander Toksvig, had ordered her to stay bedridden until whatever mysterious illness that had wormed its way into her system was purged. Of course, the Empress was bound to ignore his orders, and instead busied herself with what collectibles she had taken from Karnaca, most specifically and peculiarly charts. Spread across the countertop were golden maps of constellations, star charts, boating territories, and so much more. She had been inspecting each and every one of them for hours, carefully rolling them back into their scrolls when she was satisfied and finished.

 “How strange, it is, you’re the one demanding both an answer and asking a question,” he responded. 

 “Well, if you haven’t been leaning over my shoulder for the past hours, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

 The Outsider raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to explain how you knew in the first place?” Instead of receiving a verbal response, Emily lifted her left hand to show her Mark. It was glowing a dull blue, giving away his presence. “I see.”

 She shook her head in a disappointed manner, but he could see the small smile on her face. Despite his current dilemma with Corvo, he tried to spend every spare moment she had away from her duties with her. At the end of the day, the Outsider found himself more mentally, emotionally, and physically attached to her than he had been with any other human being. There was something truly unique and special about her that tugged at the energy forever humming in his bones.

 “You know,” she began, turning her head to look at the unrepaired lock to the Safe Room. “It isn’t difficult to read you like a book sometimes.”

 “What do you mean by that?” 

 With some effort, Emily scooted her chair back and reached under the countertop for something. A few seconds later, she reemerged with another, larger wooden box held tightly in her hands this time, this one obviously heavier than its counterpart. Before Emily even unlatched and lifted the lid of the container, the Outsider could feel the resonating humming coming from within the box, vibrating his entire being. The sight of all the Bonecharms she had collected during her time in Karnaca was impressive, but not as much as the single Rune buried underneath it all.

 She dug around in the box for a few seconds before pulling out a familiar looking Bonecharm: the first one she ever crafted. The whalebone on either side had lost its lustrous light, and the ring had been worn from friction. “To be honest, I don’t know how I managed to create this… or all the other ones.” She looked into the box and pulled the Rune out, holding it in both hands and rubbing its smooth surface with her thumbs. “Or this.”

 The Outsider hummed in response. “It is exceptionally rare for someone to have a natural talent in crafting these artefacts.” He leaned over her shoulder and brushed his fingertips across the Rune, feeling the warmth practically pulsating at his touch. “Nobody else knows.”

 Emily looked up at him. “I think it’s safe to think Father would have a fit if he found out, and I don’t want to risk the City Guard or the Abbey learning.”

 “I would keep you safe,” he confessed, his voice not wavering.

 Emily, on the other hand, seemed a bit surprised at his confession. She placed the Rune on the countertop, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I know. You made that same promise the day those Overseers came with the music box. I remember.”

 The Outsider recounted those brief moments of intense, near overbearing throbbing at his temples and deep within the marrow of his bones as the music box was cranked over and over again. He knew at that moment he was receiving only a partial amount of the pain being inflicted upon Emily. The moment solitude was given to her once she entered her Chambers, he tenderly wiped the blood and sweat off her as she attempted to stay conscious. The moment her head hit the pillow, however, he knew he _had_ to stay. Something stirred within him that told him he **_needed_** to stay with her, so climbed under the covers with her, not even freezing when she rolled over and she buried her face into his chest.

 “Yes, and I still would.”

 Emily looked back at him and smiled, her chocolate brown eyes filled with warmth. The same feeling stirred within him at the look she was giving him, making him smile a little as well. “Good.” She stood up and grabbed the box of charts. “Now, since you’re here, _you_ can help me carry these to my Chambers.”

 The Outsider watched as she walked up the stairs, leaving him to carry the of Bonecharms and her single Rune. He looked down at the countertop and sighed, knowing for a fact it would be heavy. 

 Still, a smirk graced his lips and he couldn’t help the deep chuckle rising from his chest. Emily Kaldwin was _truly_ unique.


	6. "Why?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was human nature to be curious, after all..._

Since learning of the paint permanently staining the entirety of the Outsider’s body, Emily found herself transfixed with each one, trying to think why the cultists all those thousands of years ago would choose this image or that symbol to mark upon his skin. At that moment, as the earliest rays of the sun peeked through the cracks in the curtains, he lay on his stomach, head turned away from her as she ran her fingertips along the curvature of his spine. What she could only describe as fish scales began in the middle of his shoulder blades and descended until they stopped at his tail bone. The pattern was quite distinct, and certainly didn’t fit any known species of fish in the Isles. However, the way the scales seemed to fan out from his vertebrae reminded her of those peculiar reptilian statues she would occasionally see during her time in Karnaca. 

Emily’s face heated up as she fondly remembered the first time he truly bared every speck of his entire being to her, which she returned just as equally and passionately. Skin against skin, lips kissing the expanse of her neck, and hands roaming over her body in fervor left her breathless  by the time they settled down hours later, contentment and drowsiness overwhelming her body. It wasn’t until dawn approached did she finally notice something she hadn’t in her half-awake state: beautiful, inky black patterns dotted the Outsider’s pale forearm, and as she focused her attention on them, she heard and felt them hum with ancient magic.

That was the past, weeks ago. Now, she fully understood the reason behind the ritualistic symbols and markings permanently painted upon his skin- at least, she believed so. After he directed her attention to a book on traditional Serkonan songs, she stopped on a page titled  _ Born in the Month of Darkness _ . Her heart grew heavy with each verse she read, until she finally closed the book and tossed it away as far as she could in her Chambers. The contents of that song made her feel sick, knowing the Outsider was nothing more than a beggar, who was ultimately caged, abused, and finally sacrificed.

“Why?”

Immediately, she bit her tongue as she realised she had spoken her thoughts out loud. Emily learned at an early age from Anton Sokolov and Piero Joplin it was basic human nature to be curious about the world about them. It was why children would always pester their parents or guardians with questions, expeditions to Pandyssia were still in planning, and people dabbled in black magic in hopes to fulfill their desires. 

The Outsider sighed, as if expecting she would eventually ask. She pulled her hand to her body as he lifted himself and rolled onto his back, tangling the bed sheets even more around his legs. Before she could say anything, he reached over and grabbed her thigh, lightly tugging her in his direction. She complied, moving until she straddled him and had a full view of his abdomen and torso. 

Emily already knew what to expect as she stared at him. The most prominent symbol was the large rat and dagger encased by a circle of thorns directly in the middle of his chest, spanning across his pectoral muscles and ribs, which jutted out slightly underneath his skin every time he breathed in. One hand rested on his stomach and the other grasped her thigh. 

“‘Why’?” the Outsider repeated her question. “I would drawl on about the specifics of each, but our time together is running short.” Emily distantly heard the gulls’ caw coming from the docks, loud even with the windows shut and locked and the curtains closed to block any light (or curious deck hands with telescopes). “Because it was needed.” He lifted the hand covering his stomach to show the spiraling pattern of dots that began at his shoulder and ended at his wrist. “The ritual did not call for the sacrifice’s skin to be painted, but that was irrelevant to them by the end when I saw the pointed end of the blade raised above me.”

“It worries me you talk so casually about your death.”

“My death was required. I was born to fulfill a prophecy created long before I was conceived; you were born to one day take the mantle of Empress of the Isles.”

“That’s a terrible comparison,” Emily argued, crossing her arms across her chest. “You died. You didn’t get to  _ live  _ your life.”

“I lived, I died, and I was reborn as a god. I've lived a long life.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant. Living isn’t the same as existing.”

The Outsider raised an eyebrow, reaching up to cup her cheek. “That’s an astute observation.”

“You've existed for four thousand years,” she whispered. “You never experienced the tragedies and joys of life. Godhood only gave you the opportunity to watch other people live theirs.” Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

For a few long moments, Emily didn't receive a response. She looked down upon the Outsider, watching his expressionless face as he thought over her words. Finally, he blinked, and surprised her by rolling over, pinning her to the mattress as he loomed over her, an inquisitive expression on his face. She didn't know what to make of his sudden change in behavior, and felt confusion replacing the frustration she previously felt. He cupped her cheek once more, gently brushing her skin with his thumb, as if she were made of porcelain.

“Emily the Wise,” he mused, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a slight smile as he spoke the title he had bestowed upon her. “You’re right, and you're wrong.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” she scoffed.

“Am I? I did exist for four thousand years, with no true purpose as I remained dormant and tolerant in the Void. It was my own decision to not directly interfere with the lives of mortals because of my own demise. However, all things eventually change, and I knew it as well as any sailor knew when a storm was brewing on the horizon. My Mark was gifted to those who would become catalysts to this change.”

“Then why did you Mark Daud? Delilah?” she growled, barely containing the anger in her voice. Those two had left negative impressions in her life, and she would never forgive the man for killing her mother or her aunt for imprisoning her father in stone and almost throwing the Isles into chaos.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. “It’s complicated, but I will tell you one day.”

Emily wasn't pleased with his statement, but knew he was most likely correct. She was still young; still learning how to run an Empire. She wouldn’t understand at that moment, but perhaps when she was older and more capable of handling such information, she would. She stared at the Outsider for a minute before throwing all doubts and questions aside to pull him down, molding her lips against his. The action was reciprocated in an instant, and she tangled her fingers into his soft hair. A nagging question tugged at the back of her mind, even as he sneakily slipped his hand underneath her shirt and rested it against her lower back. She pulled away from the kiss, even though the Outsider showed immediate concern as to why. When he attempted to lean back in, she responded by pressing her hands against his chest, pushing him back. She propped herself up with an elbow and kissed his neck.

“You never explained how I was right,” she whispered against his neck. 

A hearty chuckle rose from him, and she could feel its vibrations under her lips. “Do you remember when I said you were the only person to ever make me feel human in my thousands of years of existence?”

“How could I forget?”

The Outsider pulled away so he could look into her eyes. “You made me feel  _ alive _ .”

Emily stared at him, believing him to have completely gone mad with what he just said. His expression remained stern and honest, however, and she realised he wanted her to figure it out herself. After only a few seconds, whatever he was trying to spell out for her registered in her head, and the realisation almost left her speechless. 

“Why me?”

His eyes softened. “You’re  _ different _ , Emily Kaldwin. When I Mark someone, I observe their actions with the expectations they will spill blood with the powers I've given them.” He paused briefly. “You were the first who didn't.” The Outsider rolled onto his side and stared up at the ceiling. Emily looked over at the grandfather clock in her room and noticed the time, realising they had only but a few minutes together before they would both have to return to their respective duties. “You intrigued me in a way no other ever did,” he continued. “And you never stopped doing so, even after trapping Delilah in her painting. You made me feel something foreign and intimidating. Something I believed the Void had drained me of the day I died on that altar.” He turned his head to look at her. “You gave me a life to live, without ever intending to.”

She stared wide-eyed at him until the grandfather clock chimed. He sighed and began to sit up before she lunged at him and deeply kissed him, enjoying the way his suddenly stiff muscles relaxed and how he kissed her back. Emily held onto him until her lungs burned, knowing it would probably be a few days until she met him in bed. She pulled away and lifted her hand to caress his neck, remembering the invisible scar line he had motioned to her so long ago. A banging at her Chamber doors took her out of the moment.

“Emily, it's time,” Father yelled. 

Emily wished nothing more than to stay under the sheets all day, wrapped in the embrace of the Outsider and listening as he whispered great tales and stories into her ear. However, she knew her responsibilities as the Empress came first, so she detangled her body from his limbs, and watched as he disappeared in a cloud of ash, reappearing by the harp. He plucked a single chord curiously before grabbing the white dress shirt and black jacket he had hung there when he had first arrived. 

“Will you come tonight?” she finally asked, almost instinctively knowing what his response would be.

“I will try.”

Emily learned early on in their relationship, their nights spent together would be few due to his presence required in the Void. However, there were special occasions when he would be able to leave and appear in her Chambers until dawn would broke over the horizon and her father or a servant would knock on her door to wake her up.

The Outsider walked over to her, leaned down, and pecked her lips. “Your people await you, your Majesty.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, but didn’t repeat the words back to her. He didn't need to let her verbally know he felt the same towards her. She knew when the Mark on her hand warmed, and seemed to thump underneath her skin, like a heartbeat. She knew from the tender look in his eyes and the unsaid emotions expressed on his face whenever he looked at her. Love took many forms, and they had found their own personal ways of sharing it with each other.

Father knocked again, forcing the Outsider to return to the Void and her to sigh in exasperation at his insistence. “I'm awake, Father! There’s no need to act like another coup is underway.”


	7. Human (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And the first thing he did was ask for me?”_

“Your Imperial Majesty, he’s a complete enigma,” Toksvig explained, continuing to proceed down the hallway. “He refuses to explain where he came from and what his intentions are. Not only that, but the man walked into Dunwall Tower, past  _ all _ the City Watch at their posts, while suffering from what I am able to only medically describe as emaciation and dehydration.”

“And the first thing he did was ask for me?” Emily asked, skeptically. The story of a man managing to sneak into Dunwall Tower without alerting any guards, Overseers, or servants seemed entirely farfetched. It felt like she was listening to something directly from a child’s story book.

“Yes,” he confirmed, stopping in front of a closed door. The Royal Physician’s Quarters also doubled as a medical wing should the need arise, and it appeared their “guest” was already inside. “I thought of contacting the Royal Protector first, but…”

She took a mental note of his sudden pause and asked, “What is it, Toksvig?”

“I-it’s not that I don't trust your Father's abilities to keep you safe or anything,” Toksvig suddenly rambled. “He's a very capable man and performs his job wel-”

“Xander,” she interrupted him, feeling he was purposefully ignoring her question. “What’s wrong?”

The Tyvian man sighed heavily, glancing at the door with a nervous look in his eyes. “The man genuinely causes me discomfort. There's  _ something  _ about him that makes my skin crawl.” Toksvig looked Emily directly in the eye, and leaned in closer as he whispered, “If not for his eyes, I would imagine him to be the Outsider.”

Upon hearing the doctor’s confession, Emily felt her heart plummeted into her stomach and her entire body go numb. Though she kept it to herself, the Outsider’s absence the past few weeks had left her worried, but she remembered the night he told her time in the Void differed from time in reality. Only, she knew he wasn’t in some distant part of the Void this time, oblivious to the time passing. The Mark she allowed him to brand her with all those months ago told her something had changed. One evening, she felt it suddenly searing the back of her left hand, almost like it wanted to melt off her skin. This excruciating pain didn’t last for more than a minute, but Father noticed immediately when she clenched her hand into a fist, her arms shaking as she braved the scorching heat. He revealed to her later he hadn't felt a lick of the pain she had, but she knew why: Delilah had taken his Mark away from him, severing his ties to the Void.

“-mpress? Your Imperial Majesty?”

Emily was shook from her thoughts as she turned her attention back to Toksvig, not realising she had blanked out for a few moments in front of him. She cleared her throat, and sternly said, “I wish to see him.” She kept her expression professional and emotionless as she continued, “He must have a good reason to have gone all this way to seek an audience with me.”

Toksvig produced a key from his coat pocket and hesitantly handed it to her, quickly grasping her fist in the both of his hands. “Emily, I do not trust him to be alone with you.”

She smiled softly at him and took his gesture of concern for her safety to heart. Sokolov appeared to have taught him more than medicine during his time as his protégé. “Send someone to fetch the Royal Protector, then, if it will set your mind at ease.”

Toksvig breathed a sigh, but nodded and let go of her hand. He straightened his back and brought his left hand up in a fist over his right breast. “The Royal Protector will be down soon, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Emily watched over her shoulder as Toksvig walked past her and down the hall to find a servant to deliver his concerns. When he was out of sight, she turned back to the door, staring at the key in the palm of her hand with aversion. The fact they had him under lock and key made her teeth clench in anger, but she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She inserted the key and held the doorknob, suddenly hesitant to face the man in there. If the Royal Physician was correct, this man could simply be waiting for an opportunity to escape. With her free hand, she reached inside her coat and grabbed Pathmaker, the legendary folding sword Father passed down to her after the events of the Coup.

Emily opened the door and through the dark, she was able to make out the silhouettes of furniture, empty vials of elixir, and someone laying on the single bed in the room, the slow rise and fall of his chest giving away his location in the room. She wasn't able to tell if the bedridden man was asleep or faking it. Slowly, she treaded closer to his bedside, careful to not step on any tools Toksvig left in a hurry to retrieve her. Once there, she peered down at the man who had gone to such extreme lengths to meet her.

Despite her adapted eyesight, she wasn't able to make out any distinguishable facial features to her frustration. She looked to her left at the nightstand and noticed the oil lamp had been turned off, not run out of fuel as she expected. Raising an eyebrow, and making a note to ask Toksvig about it later once she was done talking to the man, she reached over, found the small dial used to ignite the lamp after a few annoying moments of searching, and turned it clockwise until she heard a small  _ click!  _ and the lamp turned on in illuminating, yellow light.

The reaction was instantaneous and unexpected, and Emily was glad she fought against the instinct telling her to unfold Pathmaker in that moment. The man resting on the bed yelped in pain and turned on his side, shying away from the lamp and her, using his hands to shield his eyes from the light. She stood frozen, unable to take her eyes off him, completely dumbfounded at who she was looking at.

It was… it was… it…

“ _ Outsider _ ,” she whispered, barely registering the clatter of Pathmaker as it fell to the floor.

Emily  _ knew  _ it was him. The only evidence she required were the black markings covering his pale skin, looking like faded tattoos at this point. Purple and black bruises marred his otherwise flawless skin, and she briefly noticed his left wrist had been placed in a cast. It scared her how easy it was to see his bones poking out from underneath his skin, and the amount of scar tissue covering his body, especially around the column of his neck. Without a second thought, she turned the dial counterclockwise until the lamp turned off, plunging the room back into darkness.

She slowly lowered herself to the edge of his bed, watching as he lowered his hands from his face. She could  _ hear _ his raspy breaths from his open mouth,  _ feel  _ the warmth of his body as he adjusted his position in the bed, and  _ smell  _ the sweat coating his skin, most likely from a fever if his physical state had any say in it. Hesitantly, she slowly reached to touch his cheek, wanting-  _ needing  _ to know this all wasn't some elaborate dream her mind had concocted from the many nights sleep evaded her. Her fingers brushed the stubble on his jawline, ticklish underneath her fingertips, and without a doubt real. His breath was hot against her hand as she traced her fingers along the sharp features of his face. He didn't wake up as she lowered her hand to his chest, not caring he was drenched in sweat. She could feel a slow, rhythmic beating against her palm, and her eyes widened and her head shot up to look at his face.

_ By the Void _ , he was  **_human_ ** . Whatever happened during his absence had left him breathing, living, truly  _ alive _ . She turned away from his sleeping face and looked down at the bed sheets, baffled more than she had ever been in her entire life. They had joked at times about different scenarios of them falling in love without the responsibility they had on their shoulders, but those were wistful wishes and dreams at best. They never spoke it out loud, but both knew their relationship wasn't everlasting. The Outsider was immortal, whereas she was not, and never would try to be, like her step-aunt had. However, under unexpected and unlikely circumstances, the Outsider was mortal now.

_ They could have an actual life together. _

The thought made Emily smile, but there was so many tasks ahead before that would be possible. Most importantly, he would need a name that didn’t disclose his previous status as the god of the Void. However, she still imagined mornings where she would begrudgingly untangle herself from his embrace and listen to his half-awake whines about wanting to sleep in that day and skip breakfast, not quite used to being human again.

A knock at the partially closed door caught her attention, and she turned her head to see Father enter the room, one hand gripping the handle of the sword on his belt and the other most likely grasping a pistol hidden behind his back. His expression was one of concern and suspicion as he closed the door behind him with a kick of his boot, eyes glancing back and forth at her and the Outsider.

“Emily,” he greeted, his voice stern. “I assume he is why I am cycling guards in and out of their shifts for the next few days.”

“Yes. Do I even have to ask if Toksvig sent you up?”

“Yes, he stormed into my office, ranting about my ‘daughter interrogating a captured fugitive by herself’.” Father approached her and the sleeping form of the Outsider on the bed, peering down at the once-god. “Emily, do you know this man?”

The heartbeat underneath her palm suddenly quickened into an almost worrisome pace and she felt his chest lurch forward. She looked back over to the Outsider to find him coughing, blood dribbling from his lips and onto his chin, and his body trembling. He lifted himself off the bed and continued coughing, gulping in deep breaths of air whenever he could. Blood splattered his chest and the bed sheets, and his entire body shook with each hack escaping him. She felt a hand on her shoulder pulling and urging her to get off the bed, away from him, but she stubbornly shrugged it off. Finally, the Outsider stopped and took a few, long moments to catch his breath before collapsing back onto the bed.

He turned his head in her direction, and roughly whispered, “Emily?”

Hearing her name spoken by him, untouched by the echo of the Void, startled her momentarily. Mechanically, she nodded in response, disregarding whether or not he was capable of seeing the action in the dark room. However, she felt him sink deeper into the mattress, the sounds of ragged breaths through parted lips filled the room not long after.

“Emily,” Father murmured from behind her. “A word, please.”

Despite wanting to stay by the side of her lover, she nodded and rose from the bed. Her hand felt sticky and warm upon leaving the Outsider’s chest, and she knew it wasn't because of sweat; it smelled much too metallic to be. She followed Father out of the room, sparing one last glance behind her before closing the door. Bringing her hand up to her face, she saw her skin and the black leather used to hide her Mark were stained with droplets of red blood, dripping down her hand and onto the floor. She stared at them as Father paced back and forth in her peripheral vision, occasionally glancing up to stare at the closed door in front of them.

“Emily.” She looked up to see Father staring at her out of the corner of his eye. “Is that who I believe it is?”

Emily swallowed and lowered her hand. “Yes.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I assume that would explain how he snuck past all the guards on duty.”

“No. No, it actually wouldn’t.” She shook her head and looked down at her hand, remembering the bruises covering his unnaturally pale body and the cast on his left wrist. “You didn’t see it, but there was  _ no  _ way he could have entered the Tower on his own without help.”

“What makes you say that?” He turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“It looked like he took a fall off the Coldridge Prison bridge,” she explained, realising the irony in what she had just said after it left had mouth. “He’s covered in bruises and it looks like he may have broken his wrist.”

“Sounds like one of the gangs got him.” Father ran a hand through his greying hair. “I thought gods couldn’t become injured. You make it sound like he's human.”

Emily bowed her head and looked at the floor. She had never told her Father the Outsider was originally a human who had spent the past 4,000 years representing the Void after a ritual had been performed on him that led to his death. The topic didn’t seem important enough to bring up, and she knew Father was not on the best terms with the Outsider for giving Daud the power to kill her mother, Jessamine Kaldwin, and Marking her (though she was the one to accept his offer).

“Emily… he’s not…” Father began to speak, confusion and concern dripping from his voice.

“I should have told you this,” she scolded herself, holding a hand up to stop him from asking any questions. “Four thousand years ago, the Outsider was human, but these… cultists captured him, abused him, and finally ritually sacrificed him on an altar.”

“How do you know all this?”

“When I was in Karnaca, two musicians were playing and singing a song in a small alley.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I stole the lyrics to the song off the man’s belt.”

“What’s this song called. I might know it.”

“ _ Born in the Month of Darkness _ . If any Overseers heard it, that person would be thrown into prison in an instant. It details the days leading up to his death.” She paused, considering whether or not to tell her Father this, but ultimately decided to. “Also… he  _ showed  _ me.”

“What do you mean by ‘showed’ you?”

Emily looked up and stared directly into her Father’s narrowed eyes; the same eyes that mirrored her own. “Deep within the Void is an island with an altar, surrounded by stone statues of people in robes. One of them was holding a knife.”

“A memory carved into stone,” he mused, but nonetheless didn’t sound pleased. He turned his head and look inquisitively at the closed door. “And now he’s human again.”

“I- I don’t know how that could have happened. I never assumed he was capable to become mortal again.”

Father sighed deeply and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Emily, I don’t know what to tell you.” He looked at her, weariness in his eyes. “There wouldn’t be any recorded documents of this happening. The Abbey would have destroyed any, and the only source of information we have is currently unconscious and sick.”

She furrowed her brow in thought. “We let him rest until he’s regained his strength,” she decided. “I want you to inform all staff and guards that should he wake up, he is allowed to traverse anywhere in the Tower.”

He grimaced. “I don’t agree with your idea, but I’ll inform the Captains of the Watch and the Chief of Staff. They won’t be pleased.”

Emily bit her lip. “I don’t want any further harm coming to him.” A thought came to mind. “Speaking of, have Toksvig come down here. I need a word with him.” She reached out and grabbed the door knob. “Cancel all my meetings and appointments for today.”

She looked back one last time to see her Father looking at her with an unreadable expression, but he eventually nodded and began walking down to the corridor to the elevator. Emily sighed, pressed her forehead against cold hardwood of the door, and entered the darkness of the room again, using the raspy sounds of the Outsider’s laboured breathing to guide her to his bedside once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this short story.


End file.
